Doing It Right

Alex wanted to "get away" for a couple of days.

I am a stay-at-home woman. I live in paradise. Why do I want to go anywhere? I don't really, but being a sometimes compliant wife, I tried to figure out a plan for a few days away.

We have two big dogs, Harry and Honey. Neither of them like to travel any more than I do. Harry cannot lie down or even sit on a road trip and that means hours on his feet in the cargo area of the station wagon. Harry does not like to "poo" anyplace but home either.

He also requires bottled water any place we go. His preference is Fiji Water which is quite expensive. (But I like it too.)

Honey sleeps in the car on any ride, but she gets sore and cranky after hours of inactivity. I think she takes after me.

I made us a reservation in Santa Cruz, California, on the Coast. The person who answered the phone took my reservation, but he also sounded totally bored by the whole thing. "Yeah, we take dogs" and "Yeah, we have a room". The place was equally lackluster. The hotel was my idea of a "hot pillow" joint, except it cost $200 a night, but was lacking in the presence of crack "ho's". (Now come to think of it, I did see a couple and even had a conversation with one.) I'm broad minded like that!

The room was poorly arranged and we all fell all over each other trying to get from one end to the other. Overall Rating: Fail. It was a depressing and weird place even if it was two blocks away from the piers.

Santa Cruz may be good for young families with very little money to waste except on cotton candy and roller coaster rides. I don't really understand why anyone would go there. There are no "good" places to eat. It's dirty and crowded and the population makes you wish you had brought your 357 magnum for protection.

The following morning, we drove up to Half Moon Bay, also on the coast where I had made a reservation for one night. It was about a two hour drive from Santa Cruz. When I called for the reservation, the person I talked to was helpful, made every effort to accommodate us and even convinced me to change our original travel schedule. We actually were so disheartened from our Santa Cruz adventure that we considered just driving on home and forfeit the deposit. I convinced Alex that we needed to get a suite if one was available after our dismal trip to Santa Cruz.

The entire get-away turned around dramatically when we arrived at the Best Western Half Moon Bay Lodge. It was a gorgeous facility set directly on a golf course right next to the crashing waves. The suite had a bedroom with a king sized bed, wonderful linens, robes, and a color scheme that made everything restful, aesthetically pleasing, as well as a large living room with a lovely fireplace.

The people at the front desk were friendly and helpful. We watched the golfers out on our patio while the dogs frolicked on the lawn behind our suite. (Yes, Harry was able to "poo" in these surroundings and that's a good thing.)

We spend an invigorating and restful night there before returning home. There are wonderful restaurants in the area. The bed was like sleeping on a cloud. Heavenly! Alex, Harry and I were very content. Honey is a little harder to impress, or she just reserves her judgment in these things.

From the moment I made the reservation at this place, I had a feeling it was going to be "special". It's amazing that a person who answers a phone can give you that sense of luxury. The man, Kurt, told me he wanted us to consider this Lodge our get away place on the coast from now on. He was on the money!

The whole experience taught me something. When people actually "care" if you enjoy a visit, it's going to be special.

And it certainly was.

My Name is Honey - Redux

I knew when I was born that I was one of those dangerous females. I took no shit from anybody from the time I was 4 months old. I spent a lot of time on the streets and that changes you. Dad was a no-count Pit Bull from Oakland. He only stuck around long enough to get mom pregnant. Mom was a German Shepherd from the Oakland Hills and very nurturing. She did right by me and my brother. I think we were her first litter.

One day, we woke up and there was a man chasing mom down the street. He had a truck with him and grabbed her and stuck her in a cage-like place. My brother and I were left alone at that point. We never saw our mother again. We stuck together for a while. We found the Oakland restaurants that put out garbage and we looked through every evening to see what we could find. Chicken bones, pork, beef, even chicken feet all were on the menu if we went to Chinatown. It was great. We slept under the overpass when it was raining. There were a lot of people sleeping out there. Some of them were really nice and let us get close. It helped on cold nights.

This young guy in an SUV pulled up to the curb when he saw me. He held out something that smelled delicious and I went up close to see what it was. He grabbed me and put me in the back of his SUV. We drove for a while and I got completely confused. I was in an area I had never seen before. He took me through an alley and into a place that had a bunch of wired cages. He put a collar on me and shoved me into one of them. I was worried about my brother, but there was nothing I could do about that. There was water in my cage but no food. I was hungry and wondered where and when my next meal would show up. I found it out would be a couple of days before I would eat again.

There were a lot of other dogs out in this yard. Some looked torn up with scars and bloody faces. I realized to survive, I had to grow up and get hard fast. The first day someone brought a bowl of kibble to my cage, I snarled at the guy and gave him my hardest look. He backed away respectfully. I was learning a survival skill. Some fool left my cage unlocked and I ran off as fast as I could. I spent another couple of years as a homeless dog. I was picked up as a stray (or vagrant) and taken to a shelter. This was bad and good. I was used to cages but that was the bad part. But I did get regular food and water; that was the good part. People wandered through and looked at me and said, "Damn! That's a scary looking dog!" and walked on to the cages with the little fluffy guys. Who gives a shit? I was getting fed. It was okay.

A couple came and said, "We'll take that one" about me after a couple of months. The shelter people did an operation on me before I went home with these people so I couldn't have puppies. It's just as well. I didn't want puppies. We got into the car and we drove to a place called Hercules. I was put out in the backyard and I was fine. I stayed outside all of the time. I was "security" the man said. They fed me once a day and gave me water. Still, I felt like something was missing in my life. These people never even gave me a name. They called me "the dog". Still, it was okay.

After some time had passed, I noticed that I had waited a long time for some food. Nobody came. The people had moved. A guy in a uniform came to the back gate and whistled. I went over to see him. He put a leash on me and took me to a waiting truck taking me to the Oakland SPCA. Here we go with the cages again. But things were a little different this time. I had a warm place to sleep, plenty of food, and a person came almost every day to take me for a walk. I stayed at this place for almost 5 months.

One day a lady walked up to my "kennel". She looked at me and I looked at her and something happened. We just knew each other immediately. She called a man over and said, "Oh my God! This is the one we want! She's beautiful and I must have her!" The man said, "Uh, that's a pit bull" and the woman said "Don't be ridiculous; she's a German Shepherd". They got someone who worked there to take us into the "get acquainted" room. They both seemed just fine, but who really knows! I let them pet me and showed them that I had a few manners and that seemed just fine.

Two days later, they came back with a new collar and leash for me and told me I was going "home". They put me in the back seat of a car and we drove for a few minutes. When we got to their house, the lady said "This is your house, Honey". Okay, my name was "Honey" now. Not dog, not Fern (as I was called at the shelter" but Honey!) I liked it. We took a long walk and I marked every place I could so I could always find my way "home".

I was given a bath (not so great) and given flea medication, and taken to a "vet". The vet told these people that I had bad arthritis problems that was causing me to limp and move with some pain. My people said, "What can we do to fix it?". I was given medicine and taken to a specialist for something called an MRI. My people were told that there really wasn't much that could be done except to keep me "comfortable". The pills helped a lot. Also, the lady (who I now call Mom) hired an acupuncturist to stick needles in me to try and make me better. It was okay. The needles didn't hurt. (But I did look funny with about 100 needles sticking out of me.)

Six years have passed. I have changed in so many ways. I am well fed, I am well groomed, and I am well loved. I only eat organic food that Mom cooks for me. If I can't walk, they carry me. I live indoors and only go outside when I want to. I have a brother named Harry and I can bite and growl at him any time I want. Life is better than before. Mom worries about losing me. I worry more about losing her.

Shady

You thought this was going to be about some whackadoodle shady business, didn't you?

Maybe something about porn, or misbehaving, or turtles in love. But it's not. The word shady here refers to just that. Shady places.

As summer has come upon us with a bang, I have to find shady places to hang out. I don't do well in hot weather. I like it cool. I used to broil myself in the sun, smeared with baby oil and a little iodine (to hurry the tan along) for hours. I'm fortunate that so far, my skin has not rebelled because of the sins of my youth. I think being Mexican helps. I used to think of the sun as a lover and give in to him on every possible occasion.

For the last 20 years, I've been more careful in the sun. I slather on the sunscreen and stay in the shade. In fact, I sometimes put on the abaya mi esposo brought me home from Saudi Arabia when I go in the yard. I keep it covered in other words. In the old days, people asked me if I was Egyptian because of how dark I was. Egyptian? Okay.

These days, my dogs and I prefer the shade. There is a 100 year old big Oak Tree in my front yard. It's interesting to note that it is always a good 10 degrees cooler under that tree than it is in the sun. That makes it the perfect place for a siesta or a good place to read. Our street is usually not very busy, so I am not concerned that someone will walk by and grab my earrings even if I fall asleep.

My husband Alex doesn't like being in the sun either. As a 100% Navajo Indian, he already has a permanent tan. In fact, years ago, my sister asked me if he was "that color" all over. I assured her that he was. Frankly, very white men just don't do it for me, usually. I love a little color on a man. (Or in some cases, a lot of color, but that's another post.)

The heat makes me drowsy, lazy and incompetent. I hate it. But I do like sitting in a shady place and knowing that because of my aversion to heat, there's nothing else I am expected to do. You have to relax in the heat. No silly jogging or walking. No crazy riding a bike.

The heat was made for quiet contemplation. And ice cold beer.

Christal Shanda Leer - Porn Queen

If I was a porn star, Christal Shanda Leer would be my name.

I think it has a touch of class and it's not all hoochie mama or anything. Actually, porn star names are sometimes pretty clever, but a lot of times, they are just too obvious.

I really don't see much porn these days. Gone are the days when Candy Barr starred in her first and only porn movie. I saw the film (which was made when Candy was only 16) after I was married and had my first child.

We were at a friend's house and they had a porn film they they showed from a projector. I remember the man in the film was wearing black socks through out the movie.

The movie was called "Smart Alec" and it was much more humorous than erotic. Still, I was very uncomfortable watching it in "mixed company".

Oh, and Candy Barr was not her real name. Her real name was Juanita Slusher and she was from Edna, Texas. I think I like the name Juanita Slusher just as well as Candy Barr. She was born in 1935 so the movie was made about 1951. I think Candy Barr was considered one of the first porn queens. I saw the movie in 1970 or so.

The next porn film I saw was at a theater in San Francisco. The movie was "Behind the Green Door" and I think the year was 1972. Marilyn Chambers was the star and she was formerly the "Ivory Soap Girl". Pretty woman. Again, it wasn't a great film, and it wasn't as funny as "Smart Alec" either.

The problem with porn to me is that there isn't really any plot. Plus, there's usually not a lot of dialog. I end up wishing the people would stop fooling around and have a conversation.

I'm glad that porn is available at the video store and on the internet. Even though I haven't seen a porn film in ages, I am pretty sure it's much better not to go to the theater to see it. There are always a lot more men at the theater than women. Plus, who can eat popcorn and watch porn? Not me.

I think I'd be good at making up porn star names. Plus I have some good titles in mind too. "Teenage Enema Nurses In Bondage" is one I thought of. That's good, isn't it?

And you have too admit, Christal Shanda Leer is sort of brilliant.

The Truth About Turtle Sex

I never really thought about turtle sex too much.

That changed a couple of weeks ago when Alex called me from the car on his way home and told me he had picked up a very large turtle who was walking down the street.

Because I can be a touch dimwitted, I said great. (I thought he was kidding.) Alex showed up a few minutes later with Albert, a big green turtle with sharp claws and a kind of funny looking head.

The second photo to the left is an actual picture of Albert. After seeing him up close and personal, I told Alex to put him in the fish pond. (I'm assuming he could swim, or at least I hoped so.) Realizing we actually knew absolutely nothing about turtles I thought I'd better get on the internet and look for some information. That's where I found the top photo of turtles mating.

I figured Albert got out of his habitat and was looking for a girlfriend to mate with when Alex found him. I also determined that he could have any number of weird turtle diseases and that we really were not equipped to take care of him.

Living in California, the first thing I thought of was "Turtle Rescue". (Well, in Racine, WI, they may not have anything like that, but I was betting that in the shadows of San Francisco, we did.) I was quite right! There was a "Turtle Rescue" place about 20 minutes from our home. I called the number and waited impatiently for a call back to my rather urgent request for help.

Within ten minutes, the phone rang and it was the lady from the turtle rescue. She listened to me saying that this was a very nice turtle but I really knew nothing about turtles and wanted to do what was best for him. (I also told her we had named him Albert, but she made no comment at all saying if she thought that was a good turtle name or not.)

She gave me her address and said if there was no answer to just leave it in the box outside on the porch. I hung up and thought, here is this nice woman who cares so much about turtles that she rescues them. Isn't that wonderful? I had images of a slightly plump sweet older lady with gray hair and glasses who just loved her some turtles.

Alex fished Albert out of the pond. We put him in a large tupperware container with holes in the top and a little water in the bottom. I thought he looked a little intimidated over all the handling, in fact he might have made a bit of a funny noise, but I wasn't sure. I was a little relieved to have him out of our fish pond because of those potentially deadly turtle diseases.

We drove him to the nice lady's house. The screen door was closed but the front door was open so I called in "hello" and a woman came to the door. She was about 40 and had a chicken bone hanging out of her mouth. The lady was not what I expected. She looked more like a biker woman than a turtle rescue woman.

She kept chewing on the chicken bone and said "Jerry! Get out here. The Alameda people are here with the turtle" and walked away. Jerry (her partner in turtle love?) came to the the front door with a smile that showed off his 2 or 3 remaining teeth. Hey! Jerry! Hi!

I said, "This is really interesting! You guys save turtles?" He gave me a look that said I was really dumb as in stupid, not speechless, and said "Uh, yeah." He told us what kind of a turtle Albert was and we asked him a few questions. Okay, mainly, he wanted to go back and chew on chicken bones with the turtle lady so he looked at us like we were stupid and boring.

Before we said our last goodbye to Jerry and Albert, I asked Jerry if he liked him. He said "Sure", but I'm not positive he meant it. As we drove away, Alex said "I'll bet they will just make him into some turtle soup."

Sometimes I hate Alex.

Bubble Baths and Guard Duty

Taking a bubble bath is never a private affair for me.

Harry has decided that I need protection whilst I am performing my ablutions. He parks his rather formidable self right next to the tub and watches the doorway for intruders while he looks at me with curiosity.

I do make my bath sort of an occasion. I bring my iced tea (or Diet Coke), my telephones, my husband's iPad, my Kindle, my potions, and spend the time lollygagging. Harry watches me and tries to discern why I seem so content just sitting in a tub full of bubbles and water.

Even the most circumspect of guards can only do this kind of duty for so long. Harry gets a little bored and a little tired after a half hour or so.

As a result, he stretches out on the 6 foot long bathmat for a little "catnap". Being as protective as he is can be quite exhausting as I'm sure you can imagine.

Sometimes Harry's nap determines how long I spend in my bubble bath. He is not inclined to wake up and move just because I want to get out.

We have all heard that most accidents happen in the home. And the bathroom is the most hazardous place of all. Trying to get out of a tub and step over Harry might be tricky so I usually just wait. Eventually, he wakes up and resumes his post.
With his renewed energy, it's easy for me to step on to the mat and get dried. Harry waits until he's sure I'm finished before he leaves the bathroom.

I seldom feel anxious when I bathe even though for many years after seeing the Alfred Hitchcock film "Psycho" I was unable to shower alone in house. I kept envisioning crazed killers with knives wearing mama's flowered dress.

Today I have no such anxiety.

Outgunned and Outnumbered

Can you pick out the non-Navajo in this photo?

I take the occasional trip with Alex to see the family in Arizona. We sometimes stay with Alex's mom when we go. I love my husband's family and there are a lot of them to love.

Sometimes it's hard to tell who is who because they all look a lot alike. Add to this, the Rez Navajos that sometimes come down to Phoenix from the Navajo Nation. These guys are perfectly happy camping in the backyard for a few months. When we visit, I sometimes feel like I stick out like a sore thumb.

I catch people looking at me with a kind of fascination and it's not just because of the blond hair. Sometimes I'm glad I'm not fluent in Navajo because I might get my feelings hurt if I was. If they find me "interesting", I have similar reactions to them.

Alex's mom will give me a sanitized version of things, but then takes her son off to tell him "the real deal". The two stories are usually not particularly compatible. Alex's sisters are warm and friendly to me, but I'm treated with a "protective" attitude. Girls! I can handle the truth! Really I can! Distant relatives sometimes are "squished" by machinery, and I'm told they had a little accident. (Yes, I hate the idea of anyone being "squished" but I could be told that too.)

If I answer the phone when Alex's family members call, I'm told everything is "fine". Then Alex gets on the phone and his side of the conversation consists of "Oh no!" "Oh my God!" "Is he all right?' "Oh no!" "Did the police come?" "Oh no!" "You're kidding! Oh my God!" After 20 minutes or so of this, the phone call ends.

I ask Alex, "What's going on?" He tells me, "Nothing. Everybody's fine."

Go figure!